


The Tulip

by albertblithe (Gabbaroni)



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Brad sort of makes a cameo, Combat Jack, Kid Fic, Letters, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Original Character(s), Post-Series, marines being gross, ray doesn't understand feelings, that is walt has a kid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-16 23:35:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9294608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gabbaroni/pseuds/albertblithe
Summary: “You love my daughter.”Yeah, Ray thinks. She’s half of Ray’s heart.





	1. Chapter 1

Ray is sitting with five of his friends, stuffing his face with shitty food, when the letters are delivered. Most of them are the same shit as usual, most notably three dirty letters from three different girls for Ray’s friend Trevor. Ray is about to make fun of him for it, when two letters are dropped in his lap. When he flips them over to find Walt’s name on both, he stands and takes them to one of the portable johns. Most of his friends think he has a girl back home, and sometimes Ray laughs to himself because they’re almost right, but Walt’s letters aren’t dirty, they’re just… private. Honestly, Ray isn’t sure why, but he’s decided he doesn’t want to share them with anyone, doesn’t even want to read them with anyone else around. 

In the relative privacy of the porta-john, Ray rips open the letter with the earlier date first. Walt writes him about once every week or two, usually with a photograph, but the Marine Corps can’t even get mail right, so he always ends up with a few at once.

 

_Dear Mr. Army Man,_

 

Fuck Walt. But Ray is laughing.

 

_I hope they’re not killing you over there, I’m not holding out much hope. But you’ll pull through, I’m sure. I got the court date settled with Kara, it’s a month from now. I’m so fucking ready to get that out of the way. I am not looking forward to wearing a suit for an entire day. Don’t tell anyone I’m nervous._

_Don’t bother worrying about things here, I’d like it better if you thought more about keeping yourself alive._

 

_Stay Frosty or whatever,_

_Walt_

 

The photograph is a little blurry. Walt is holding up Sophia who is leaning forward to touch her little fingers to the camera of Walt’s phone. She’s got soft, loose curls all around her face and is in her PJs, like Walt has just gotten her up from a nap. Walt is obviously laughing. 

Ray finds himself smiling wider than he was before. He tucks the photo into his pocket, making sure it won’t crease. He opens the more recent letter, dated two weeks ago.

 

_Dear Fucker,_

_Yesterday Sophia called you Ray-Ray. I almost want to die. I know she heard that from you, I can fucking hear you denying it from the other side of the world. I’ve never called you that, so we both know where she got it. Honestly, I expected better from you._

_Mama bought Soph a nice dress. She says she needs one for church or holidays or whatever. The kid still sucks at walking, but she needs to look nice for shit. I don’t get it, but honestly it’s pretty damn cute. I might be biased._

 

_We miss you,_

_Walt_

 

The second photograph must have been taken by someone else or set on a timer. Walt is crouched behind Sophia, helping her stand, and smiling at the camera. Ray can’t get over that smile. Sophia is in what Ray assumes is her new, nice dress. It looks like it’s made of cotton and it’s a pretty shade of green. Her hair is brushed and pulled into a tiny tuff on top of her head and she has her tiny hands clasped together in front of her mouth. Ray suspects she’s sucking a thumb. 

When Ray comes back to his friends, both letters and photos tucked away safely, he must be smiling, because Trevor laughs and makes a joke about Ray’s girl. Ray shoots back something obnoxious and obscene and, after sneaking the letters into his footlocker, settles into his own cot. 

He looks forward to those letters for weeks at a time, they’re a bright spot in the middle of a literal fucking desert, but afterward he always feels deflated and sometimes confused. His head feels thick and he wants sleep. 

Ray thinks back to one of the first letters that felt serious. Like, Walt talked about Kara and all the shit with her all the time, but that felt the same as every other girlfriend of a friend. The letter that felt like a change was the one with the first ultrasound. Walt said the baby was about the size of a blueberry. But there it was, little fists and a little nose. Ray never told Walt that it freaked him out, that he put the picture in a desk drawer and prayed no one would find it. 

Now, he feels empty, kind of like he did that day, but really not at all. It’s different to feel empty at home than it is to feel empty in the desert. Ray’s not sure how to handle it. 

 

He spends a lot of his time working on his Humvee, humming any tune that floats into his head. He smiles and laughs and eats as much as he can, and he’s genuinely happy. He wishes he was with Brad, but most days he doesn’t think about it. The guys in his vehicle are all younger than him and that kind of makes him want to kill someone, but he figures that’ll happen soon enough. 

Sometimes, when he isn’t playing mechanic, he runs or lifts weights. He wrestles people to see if he can win. At first he wonders if he’s turning into Rudy, or maybe some piece-of-shit jock, but that’s not it; he’s fucking bored. He’s bored without Brad to bother and he’s bored without Walt to sing with. He’s happy most days, but still bored as shit.

The boredom lessens the day they finally kick off. Ray writes a letter to Walt for the first time in months. 

 

_Dear Hasser,_

_We’re moving out today. So I guess I won’t get any letters for a while. I hope everything goes okay with Kara. If it doesn’t, we’ll go drinking when I get back._

_Don’t forget to feed the Tulip and tell her Uncle Ray loves her._

 

_See you on the other side,_

_Ray_

 

He takes every letter he has with him to war. If he’s gonna do this again, and don’t get him wrong, he wants to do this again, he’s gonna at least have Hasser to keep him company. The days are long and so are the nights. They’re on 75% watch and Ray has to take Ripped Fuel like a motherfucker to keep from falling asleep at the wheel. The Ripped Fuel makes him restless; he bobs his head and taps the steering wheel and sings country songs at the top of his lungs. Brad isn’t there to admonish him for it and that feels fucking weird. 

At least they have the right camouflage this time around. 

A kid named Matt sits behind him in the humvee. Matt has an opinion about everything, especially when it comes to sex. Marines don’t have much to think about on the road, and there isn’t much that’s more interesting than sex. 

“The best is when you got a tiny girl to just bounce on your dick,” Matt says from the backseat before he spits out his window. Ray almost yells at him for it. 

“You serious?” Trevor asks, “like tiny-tiny? What about tits?”

“Or ass?” pipes up Aaron from the gun. 

“Nah, son,” Matt defends, “the best fuck I ever had was with a tiny Asian chick.”

“So?” Ray says, water bottle in his hand, “maybe she was just a good fuck. You’re making some pretty wide assumptions, my friend.”

“I’m just stating a fact,” Matt puts his hands up, “What about you, Trevor? What was your best fuck?”

“I went out for a few months with this chick named Veronica in my high school–”

The entire humvee erupts into shouts of disbelief and debate.

“No way, dude.”

  Trevor looks kind of upset when he continues, “Yeah, man, she wanted to fuck like all the time–”

“It’s never the girlfriend–”

“That would be too easy–”

Trevor pouts, “Fuck, man. Whatever.”

There’s silence for only a few seconds before Matt asks Ray, “Wha’about you? Your best fuck, go.”

Ray hasn’t had sex in like, fucking months. And nothing comes to mind as particularly amazing. Instead, he tells a joke about fucking siamese twins and drains his water bottle. 

 

He has easy-going conversations with his team leader. His name’s Darrel. Darrel chats with Ray about poker and The Grateful Dead and The Catcher in the Rye. Sometimes Darrel acts like a pseudo-enlightened prick, but Ray doesn’t really care. The guy’s nice enough and he let’s Ray ramble about whatever he can. 

 

The first time he sleeps is two days in. It’s only a few hours and Ray dreams about his mother. When he wakes up, he forgets he’s in Iraq until he hears a shell burst. A guy in his humvee, Aaron, he realizes, is kicking at his shoulder, telling him they’re Oscar Mike. Letting Ray behind the wheel in his state is questionable, to say the least, but he still does it. Takes a mouthful of Ripped Fuel and slams his door shut. He hums _I See a Darkness_ without really knowing it. 

 

Two teams are scoping a hamlet and Ray’s team leader has let him off for the hour or so they’re there. He hides himself on the other side of the humvee, mostly for shade, but also for privacy. He should sleep, he knows, but instead he’s reading a letter. It’s the one Walt sent when he finally got to take Sophia home from the NICU.

 

_Dear Ray,_

_There’s not a really good way to describe the weird change that happens when you become a father. It’s kind of like our team and how we’d do anything for them, but it’s condensed into a four pound little squirmy thing with no teeth. Ray, I love her so much._

 

He likes reading that part.

 

_Mama is here for the time being, she makes sure I eat and helps with all the things I keep forgetting to do with a baby around. God, I can’t believe I have a baby. You should come meet her when you can._

 

_Your very tired friend,_

_Walt_

 

The photograph was taken by Walt’s mom. Walt’s in PJ pants and a white undershirt, lying on his back, limp arm hanging off the couch. His other hand is laying on top of the little bundle that was Sophia. Her tiny arms and legs are tucked up under her, eyes closed, face half squished into Walt’s chest. Ray had never seen a newborn that fucking small before then. Curled up like that, she basically fit in the palm of Walt’s hand. Ray isn’t sure how early she’d been born, but she was basically healthy. They’d been lucky, apparently. 

Shots go off from behind him and Ray hears his team leader call his name. Ray’s body is up before he registers the command, and the letter and photo are tucked away under his flak vest. But the action is short-lived and their lieutenant calls over the comms for them to peel out. 

The rest of the day, he’s full of adrenaline, he sings, he tells dirty jokes, he rants about the horrible adventure that is picking pizza toppings with one Brad Fucking Colbert. Lots of guys, the new ones anyway, ask about Brad and his Iceman reputation. Ray relishes every chance he has to tell Baby Marines all the little things about Brad, destroying his reputation one anecdote at a time. He decides not to tell anyone about the shag carpet raking; that’s a present he keeps for himself. He loves Big Gay Brad, he really does. He also values his life and recognizes Brad’s ability to take it from him (although, he doubts his willingness.)

He gets to sleep that night, even digs a grave for it. He curls up on his side and thinks of Trombley telling Reporter to curl up like a bitch. He doesn’t dream.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Ray never met Kara, he didn’t really want to. But when Sophia was almost two months old he drove to Hasser’s apartment, stayed for a weekend. He pulled into a parking lot that looked like every other fucking parking lot in front of an apartment building that looked like every other fucking apartment building and hit the buzzer next to Walt’s name. 

“Hasser, it’s me.” It was almost spring and the sky was overcast, despite himself, Ray felt fucking cold. Everything felt cold after the desert. 

“Hey, come in,” Walt’s voice came through distorted, but Ray thought he sounded pleased. Walt buzzed him in and Ray took the elevator to the third floor, flipping his car keys in his hand the whole time. 

When Walt answered the door, Ray found him in gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt, no baby in hand, but he was smiling wide like Ray had hoped. He hugged Ray right there in the hallway; Ray was surprised but hugged back, his head fitting snuggly into Walt’s shoulder. He was led inside, where Walt claimed he would offer him a beer if it weren’t two in the afternoon. There was small talk, Ray cracked a stupid joke, and Walt purposefully did not laugh. 

“So,” Walt said after a beat of silence, “wanna meet her?”

Ray chuckled and agreed. Walt had him sit on the dingy, tan sofa before he disappeared into another room. He returned, smiling softly, with a little, pink bundle tucked into his arms. Ray sat up straight, hands on his knees, before he reached up to take Sophia, more nervous than he had been expecting. Sophia was still asleep, breathing through her nose. Ray was amazed; there was an entire life, her whole existence, right in his hands. He could feel her breathe, feel every minute movement she made. In the next moment, Sophia squirmed, stretched out a small fist, yawned, and pressed her face into Ray’s arms. And Ray fell in love. 

Walt must’ve been able to see it on his face because he sat next to Ray and brushed a wisp of her fine hair out of her forehead with a single finger, saying, “She’s beautiful, right?”

Ray shook his head in disbelief. “This is insane, dude,” he looked at Walt, “I mean, I knew you were a dad, but I didn’t know you were really a _dad_.”

“God, you’re such a dumb fuck.”

“Don’t curse in front of her!”

 

Ray has been driving on the same back road for what seems like an eternity. It’s night and Trevor keeps nodding off in the back seat, but his team leader is talking about his family. He’s the only boy of four children and his oldest sister was a field surgeon in the Army like a million years ago; he says she made him want to be in the Armed Forces. Ray became a Marine because he needed the money. But he keeps that to himself. 

The plan was to serve, get some new skills, some new friends, and later on go to school. The plan feels different now, but he’s not sure how. He ends up daydreaming instead of listening to Darrel, doesn’t really care if he’s being rude. He daydreams he’s in Iraq for the first time with Brad and their humvee. 

Several weeks in, Ray’s restless and itching for a firefight. It’s the exact same feeling he had when he tried to quit smoking. He sits on the berm and cleans the weapon he never uses (of course, cleaning is impossible when there’s fucking sand _everywhere_.) He’s fidgeting and jittery, he needs something else to occupy his hands. Fishing around in his uniform, he finds the pad of paper he tucked away earlier, when he was copying down something for Darrel. With the little half-pencil he keeps tucked behind his ear, he writes to Walt. 

 

_Dear Hasser,_

_The Mark-19 works this time, we got lube. The kid who sits where Trombley did makes me actually miss Trombley. I didn’t know that was even possible. I mean, I love Trombley and everything, but I sure as fuck didn’t miss him._

 

He considers telling Walt that he misses him, too. 

 

_It’s more boring this time around, way less actual shooting involved. I kind of miss it._

 

_Bored as fuck,_

_Ray_  

 

He knows he’s not gonna send it, but it feels good anyway. He starts writing Walt all the time, not always on paper, sometimes just in his head. 

 

_Dear Hasser,_

_It’s a good thing you’re not here. We got nothing but peanut butter MREs._

 

_Dear Hasser,_

_Today my TL told me he thought Jimi Hendrix was “okay.” Does he know I’m carrying a fully loaded weapon at all times?_

 

For a short time, they’re billeted in a small village that Ray can’t name. The Iraqis are kind to them and try to offer them food, but the men have been ordered not to accept. They still sleep in their graves and eat MREs, but something about living with other people, even if they’re people who don’t speak his language, makes Ray feel a little more human than he did before. 

When they have time, and the parents of the village don’t mind, the men will strip into PT gear and play soccer with the kids. Ray plays on the kids’ team and it rivals Brad giving out ravioli for Ray’s favorite time in Iraq. He helps them make goals and picks them up and runs and cheers to celebrate. The kids laugh and give him little high fives.

One little girl kicks for the ball and twists her ankle, the Doc makes sure nothing is seriously wrong, and the little girl’s dad comes over and scoops her up. The girl is maybe six or seven, but all the same it makes him think of Walt and Sophia. Ray smiles to himself and eats his MRE. Later, a parent hands off her young child for Ray to hold and she’s a Sophia, too. They’re all little Tulips. Ray wonders if this is a problem. 

 

The first letter he ever got from Walt was short and entirely unexpected. Ray was sorting through his mail when he saw Walt’s name; he opened it before he finished another task. 

 

_Dear Ray,_

_I’m sorry I haven’t contacted you since we got back. Everything here was so crazy for so long. Some stuff has changed. I have a girlfriend. We’re pretty sure she’s pregnant._

 

Fuck, dude. That wasn’t something Ray was expecting. 

 

_I’m kind of terrified if I’m being honest, and I always felt I could be honest with you. You should come visit sometime, or I can drive to you, whichever works._

 

_Your Friend,_

_Walt_

 

Ray responded with his own letter immediately.

 

_Dear Hasser,_

_Is there a reason you didn’t just call me?_

 

He got another letter a week and a half later telling him to shut up. The back and forth started then. Reading it in the front seat of the humvee, it feels like a thousand years ago. Ray remembers the strange mixture of happiness and guilt upon reading it; he didn’t really understand why he felt that way at the time, but it doesn't seem important anymore. 

Sitting on the edge of his grave, he shaves with the ass-water and hums some top ten hit from ’98 he can’t remember the words to. Trevor sits down next to him, legs hanging into his grave, before lying back and covering his face with an arm. Ray figures he just wants to be near someone, Christ knows why, when Trevor lets out an exaggerated groan and pipes up, “I knew this was gonna suck, but I didn’t expect to miss pussy so much.”

Ray looks over his shoulder at him, turns back to continue shaving, as he says, “Go jack off or something.”

“I said I miss pussy, not coming.”

“Christ, whatever.” Ray washes the rest of his face and neck. 

Trevor sits up slowly and with a pained sound, stares at his dangling feet for a little while. “Those letters you read–”

Ray hums.

“–those from your girl?”

Ray genuinely laughs, although it’s not his usual hysterics, “Uhm, no,” he says when he has a breath, “I don’t have a girl.”

“What?” Trevor’s face screws up, “I thought you did.”

Ray shakes his head, “Nope.” He shrugs, “I have a friend back home who writes me sometimes.”

Trevor doesn’t look any less confused but he leaves it alone in favor of pulling something out from his pocket. 

It’s a fucking _Charms_. 

Ray snatches it from his hand and chucks it as far as he can, “Don’t be a fucking idiot.” Trevor looks at him like he’s crazy and Ray doesn’t feel like explaining, “Just,” he smacks him in the arm, “go fucking jack off.”

Trevor does, or at least, he leaves Ray alone. Ray gets up and finds Connor, a guy from Team Two he likes. They drink shitty water and talk about music they like and Connor tells him about his twin sister who got to meet Dave Grohl at a concert once. Ray laughs and says fuck Dave Grohl and calls him a pussy. Connor gives him a look that reminds him of Brad and it makes Ray happy. 

 

That night Ray takes his own advice and gets his hands down his pants for the first time since arriving in this shit desert country. Why the fuck hasn’t he done this yet? He’s too tired to think of much besides the feeling of his hand on his dick. If anything, he does think of skin. Fuck, he misses skin more than anything else, smooth and sweet tasting. In the end, the skin is golden and the hair is blonde and Ray comes into the dirt. Catching his breath, his eyes open wide and he panics. He crumples down onto his side and tries to drown in his uniform. With nothing else to do, he scratches harshly at his hair and does everything in his power to fall asleep.

 

_Dear Ray,_

_Sophia._


	3. Chapter 3

Guilt eats at Ray. He does anything to keep his mind off of Walt. He talks incessantly about everything he can: the weather, the war, girls, bubblegum, the fucking Indy 500. Nobody seems to notice; it’s not that different from his usual bullshit. It hurts, fucking hurts a lot, when he has the urge to read a letter or something makes him think of Walt and he has to tell himself to stop. He feels like he’s betrayed him.

He keeps it up for a long time, does his duties, and talks to his friends. He keeps it up until it’s too much; alone in the humvee, he hates himself, beats on his head with the heel of his palm like a fucking psycho, and desperately, desperately tries not to cry. He hates that he’s acting like a bitch, but there’s nothing else to do. When the tears do come, they’re short lived and he wipes at them with a fist, only leaves behind red cheeks. 

It gets easier after that. The guilt still stings, but he can move through and around it, make himself feel something else. He talks shit, cleans his gun, takes Ripped Fuel, eats MREs, even jacks off like a normal person. Walt doesn’t fill every corner of his mind. 

He gets the courage to look at the photos again. He lies in his grave, one hand bent behind his head, and smiles at one crinkled photograph. Sophia is about the same age as she was when Ray met her for the first time. She’s cradled in Walt’s arm with a bottle tucked to her chest; Walt is smiling for the camera, maybe someone just caught his attention. Ray holds it above his head and then it’s snatched away. 

Ray yells, “Hey!” and scrambles up. He finds Matt holding the photo and smiling like a douche. 

“Give it back, fucker.” Ray strides up to him and makes a grab for the photo but Matt’s too quick and pushes Ray away. 

He looks at the photo and then to Ray, “What’s this?” he asks and laughs at Ray’s expression, “Didn’t take you for such a sensitive prick, Person.”

“Would you just give it to me?” Ray catches the photo this time, but Matt pulls back and it tears. Matt gives it up, laughing, and Ray hits him in the chest. 

“Don’t be a pussy.”

“Fuck you.”

The tear goes across Walt’s shoulder, barely grazes the crown of Sophia’s head. Ray presses it back together but it doesn’t stay. Slipping back into his grave, he sighs and tucks it away. Christ, when did he become such a sensitive prick?

 

“What about Olive? It’s like Olivia but cuter.”

Ray twisted in his desk chair, actually laughed out loud, “Dude, you’re gonna name your kid after a piece-of-shit, green fruit from Greece?”

“Green olives aren’t from Greece.”

“Does it matter?”

“Okay, okay, no to Olive.” Walt’s voice came through placating, “What about Madison?”

“Gay.”

“Fine.” Annoyed, “Ruby?”

Ray sighed, rested his elbows on his desk, and rubbed his hand over his forehead, “Okay, just. No to all names that are things.” he said, “No Olives, Rubys, Lillys–actually that one might be funny.”

“I’m not naming my kid after Lilley.” Walt said flatly. 

Ray found himself gesturing widely, even without Walt with him, “He could be like, her godfather, dude.”

Walt’s reply was immediate, “You’re her godfather, you idiot.”

“I–” Ray sputtered a bit, “Oh.”

“I mean, I guess I should’ve asked you first.” Ray could hear the hesitancy in Walt’s voice; he could almost see the hand running through his cropped hair, “There’s really no other…”

“No, no.” Ray interrupted, “I like it.” He couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face as he said, “Plus, somebody’s gotta steer her straight.”

Walt gave an exasperated sigh, “Shut up. God, I knew I was going to regret this.” Ray wondered if Walt felt as happy as he did right now. 

“You’re stuck now, bitch. I’m gonna godfather the shit outta your kid.”

Walt promised to write him with the final name when he figured it out. 

 

They park in the middle of a dirt road while their Captain talks to Iraqi intelligence, AKA an old man with like three teeth. Ray thinks Brad would’ve taken this opportunity to compare him to Ray’s family members. He misses Brad. He misses Rudy and Pap, even Q-Tip and Reporter. He misses all the fucked up shit in a sort of not-real way. Something just feels off this time around. He doesn’t feel alone, not with his brothers here, but Iraq used to be a place only inhabited by Bravo Two. Without them it’s just not Iraq. So he’s happy, at least, he’s okay with where he is. But feeling off can sort of be worse than feeling bad. 

He doesn’t feel off when he’s with Hasser. 

He writes to Walt, just in his head, for the first time in a long time.

 

_Dear Walt,_

_I’m bored as fuck. The Iraqis won’t shoot us and we do nothing but fucking drive and stop in fuckbutt cities and talk to friendly people. It’s not like I wanna get hurt, but some ass-kicking would be nice._

 

Matt is sleeping in the dusk and Aaron has come down and squished himself in the middle of the seat. Trevor’s writing something down hurriedly. Ray figures it’s fine to pull out a photo. The one with the stupid, plastic hospital coat is his favorite. Walt holds Sophia for the first time, looks enamored. It makes Ray feel like a sap, but it’s hard not to love it. 

“That yours?” comes from next to him.

“What?” Ray unconsciously turns the photo away from Darrel.

“The baby,” Darrel points to Sophia, despite the angle, “is it yours?”

It takes Ray a moment to understand the question, but when he does he makes sure to be quick in his answer. “Nah, this is my friend and his daughter,” he looks down at it, “I’m her godfather.” Darrel leans over to look and Ray hands it to him. 

After a moment he smiles and says, “She’s beautiful.” Handing it back, he asks, “You miss them?”

Ray shrugs, “Sometimes.”

Darrel starts to rattle on about some family member and Ray half listens. It occurs to him that ‘sometimes’ is a complete lie. He always misses Walt. It’s not exactly an emotion or something that takes up space in his brain; it’s something always present and it lives in his gut. He misses Walt like a fucking missing limb. Iraq feels wrong without him. Really, everything feels wrong without him.

He pulls out another letter to read. 

 

_Ray,_

_Listen, I’ve never talked to anybody about this, but I’m worrying and I trust you and I gotta tell somebody._

_Kara and I had broken up before she found out she was pregnant and we’re not together now, not really. I’m glad she told me about the pregnancy and I want to be in my kid’s life but we broke up initially because she was using all the time. She was constantly fucked up and I just couldn’t deal with it._

_When she told me she was pregnant she promised to stop for the baby. I think she did for a while, but recently she’s been dodging me and acting strange and I don’t know. I feel like I should do something. I don’t know what to do. Ray, I don’t–_

 

Ray stops reading. The letter still makes his stomach turn. He shoves it in his pack and pushes it from his mind. Nothing happened. Sophia was fine. Sophia _is_ fine.

 

It happens again. Ray has his hand around his dick, trying to think of pretty girls and trying to think of nothing at all. When he starts to lose control and the blonde hair and golden skin comes back, it’s too difficult to think of something else. He’s been trying not to because he knows it’ll become easier, the guilt will subside, and he knows that won’t make it right. But right now, it’s impossible. He thinks of a flat stomach and sweet collarbones and the muscles that make up the shoulders and arms. He thinks of broad hands touching him and it’s over. He comes hard and can’t do anything but ignore the stabbing feeling in his stomach and force himself into an uneasy sleep. 

 

Walt opened the door as Ray stomped the majority of the packed snow from his shoes. He held Sophia in one arm; she was sitting up on her own now, little spiky pigtails tied behind each ear, hair parted perfectly in the middle. Ray wondered if Walt had come up with that on his own. Recognition blinked through her eyes at Ray’s smile and she made a happy kind of noise. Ray almost toppled over with shocked delight when Walt handed Sophia to him and she settled contently to his chest. 

Ray followed Walt inside and sat at the counter. The lights were off, only the muted sun coming through the windows lit the room. Walt was bright by comparison; he smiled, looking at Ray and Sophia. Ray had her propped up onto his shoulder and she had curled up, tucking her face into Ray’s collarbone. Ray could feel her breathing, like he always could when he held her, and like always, he felt the tremendous weight of her life in his hands. 

“How are you?” Ray asked, one hand coming up to rub at Sophia’s back. 

“We’re good,” Walt said, “We’re doing good.”

“Any bullies yet?” Something Ray asked every time Sophia came up in conversation, vowing to kick their little baby asses. 

“No,” Walt replied as always, “surprisingly, the 9-month-old doesn’t have any bullies.”

Ray kissed the top of Sophia’s head, “You just let me know when.” 

Ray played with Sophia on Walt’s carpeted living room floor. She had lots of blocks and stuffed things that made music when you squeezed them. No legos, though.

“What’s the deal, homes?”

“She could choke on them, Ray.” Walt sounded exasperated from his spot on the couch, but Ray caught his smile in the same moment. He liked trying to build tall structures with the blocks, only to have Sophia take the block of her choice and stick it in her mouth. She was so unbothered by the whole thing falling, it made Ray giggle. He wiggled his way onto his stomach so he could look at her head-on, she baby-army-crawled up to him and took a chunk of his cheek in her chubby hand. He made an ugly face at her and with the same hand, she smacked him. The surprise on his face, and her father’s shocked laughter made her giggle and squeal. 

Around two in the afternoon, Sophia was put down for a nap. St. Louis wasn’t playing until the evening, so Ray and Walt settled into the couch to watch the Eagles play the Cardinals. Ray did’t really like either team, but Walt disliked the Eagles, so that was something. Before the first quarter was finished they were down 10-3. They bitched about some meaningless shit, swapped their newest horror stories of civilian life (Walt won), and resisted shouting at the television. 

Ray turned to Walt after an easy silence to make an ill-advised comment on Philly’s RB and saw Walt had fallen asleep with his chin balanced on his fist. His eyes were fluttering like he was dreaming and his breathing was even and deep. Ray smiled a little; he must’ve been so tired. He let Walt sleep and watched the game in silence until small snuffling, unsettled noises started bleeding out from the baby monitor. 

Ray jumped up and found Sophia’s room behind the corner before Walt could be woken. Sophia was squirming in her crib, her face all wobbly like she was deciding whether or not to cry. Ray stooped to pick her up along with her blanket, which she’d thrown off. He scooped her up cooing, “Oh, that’s it, no crying, not while your Uncle Ray is here.”

He bundled her up in her purple blanket. He could tell it had been washed in soap that smelled like lavender. “Did you think you’d been forgotten?” He asked as he stroked an unkempt lock of hair from her forehead, bobbing and rocking to keep her at peace, “Never’d happen, Tulip. I like you too much for that.”

Sophia blinked owlishly at him and Ray took her back to the family room, still talking to her under his breath. He found Walt sitting up, alert as ever.

“You didn’t have to get her,” he said. He stepped forward to smile at her and stroke her cheek. 

Ray gently pushed at his arm, “You were out, dude. It’s no problem.”

Walt made a noise like he wanted to fuss but instead said, “Tulip?”

Oh, Walt could hear him through the monitor. “Yeah,” he hadn’t thought about what he was saying, “all wrapped up in her blanket, she’s like a little purple tulip.” He lifted her slightly against his chest, so Walt could see the flower. 

Walt studied Sophia the Tulip with a certain intensity and then he smiled so brightly, Ray wanted to capture it. Wanted to some of that happiness for himself. 

“Go sleep in your own bed,” Ray said and pushed on him again.

“I can take care of her–”

“I know you can. You deserve a break.” Ray tried to look reassuring, “This isn’t my first babysitting gig.”

After a moment of apparent consideration, Walt kissed Sophia’s cheek and lumbered into his room, patting a lazy hand on Ray’s shoulder. 

Ray heard the door close and told Sophia, “Let’s get you something to eat, huh?”

So, the day was supposed to be a playdate with Walt and ended up becoming a playdate with Sophia. Ray was pleased nonetheless. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Ray doesn’t feel guilty this time, well, not nearly as guilty as he had before. This time he feels something else. Not guilt really, and not confusion either, it’s something else that’s just labeled “not that great.” Maybe this doesn’t have anything to do with Walt at all. It’s just, since when does he get off thinking about guys?

He’s silent as he drives the humvee in the hot afternoon. He’s glad, not for the first time, that his humvee has a roof. He’d be a piece of bacon right now if the case were otherwise. The good thing about being the driver, and the good thing about not fearing for his life constantly, is that he can think through this shit. Ray’s never thought about men in the same way he thinks about women and he’s never had a reason to question it. Honestly, he doesn’t give a shit how people choose to get off, as long as you’re not using like, little kids or something. Maybe this was normal; it was just a combat jack, it’s not like he was actually having sex with a dude. Combat jacks can get weird, everything’s weird out here. He was fucking exhausted. How should he know why all the retarded shit that goes through his head does what it does? 

He just wouldn’t do it again. Don’t do it again, and there’s no problem. The whole thing was fucking retarded anyway. 

His mind, blessedly, goes blank for the rest of the drive, and it turns out, command was taking them to a city. One Ray doesn’t learn the name of because he doesn’t care. A city means rest and Haji food if they’re lucky. 

He finds later, that a city also means mail. Some sentry comes around and hands out letters addressed to all of the guys in the platoon. Most of them are happy shit: Connor gets a funny letter from his twin sister, Darrel gets one from his wife, Trevor learns that his brother’s wife is pregnant. There’s one or two Dear Johns, that always seems inevitable. 

Ray gets five letters. Five fucking letters. And they’re all from Hasser.

“Whoo!” Connor whistles at him as the letters are dropped on top of him, his own already opened letter in his hand, “Those all jerk-offs? Lucky bitch.”

Ray laughs something real and low in his stomach, “You wish, son.”

He’s beaming as he looks through them. The first, oldest, is from a week after they stepped off. 

 

_Person,_

_Don’t get blown up, alright? You look better with both legs. The Tulip says she loves you. I’m working on fixing that, don’t worry._

 

_Walt_

 

The picture from this one was definitely taken by Walt. They’re outside, in a park or something and Walt’s smiling and holding Sophia on his hip. Instead of smiling herself, she’s resting a sleepy head on his shoulder, a thumb in her mouth, and her eyes studying something behind the camera. Her hair is brushed and looks fine and delicate as the wind tosses it a bit, and there’s a butterfly barrette pinning it away from her face. 

Ray must be smiling, he knows he must be. It’s hard not to. Eating an MRE and talking with his mouth full, Trevor asks, “Who’s it from?”

Not quite looking away from the picture, Ray answers, “My friend back home. There’s a picture with his daughter.” Trevor holds out his hand and Ray figures, fuck it, and hands it over. “Here.”

He watches Trevor take in the photograph and he watches him smile and hand it to Matt, who’s hanging behind his shoulder. 

“She’s cute.” he says. Matt agrees. 

Ray’s smile doesn’t leave as he takes it back and places it safely on his right knee. He opens up the second one, practically tears it open. 

 

_Dear Ray,_

_A list of updates from the civilian side:_

  1. _Mom came to visit for the week, and now I think I’ve seen enough of her for the rest of the month._
  2. _Sophia has discovered that she likes sucking on lemons. Every time, she tastes it and makes a face, and then tries the lemon again 30 seconds later._
  3. _Paying rent sucks._



_I hope you’re not dead._

 

_Your friend,_

_Walt_

 

The picture is Sophia in a high-chair, with a chewed-up looking slice of lemon in front of her. Her hands are sticky and she has fingers stuck in her mouth. Her face is scrunched up from the sour taste. Ray laughs, high in his chest, and shows the picture to the guys sitting around him who all smile and giggle. It makes Ray feel good. 

The third one is his favorite. The envelope is colored purple and inside is a sheet of blank paper covered in scribbles from all different colored crayons. In the bottom right corner Ray recognizes Walt’s handwriting.

_Love, Tulip_

 

The fourth is about the court date. 

_The Judge ruled in my favor. I got full custody. I can’t put it into words, how happy I am. I get to have her and keep her safe. Ray, I’m so happy._

 

The picture is Walt in a black suit and Sophia done up in a dark blue dress with little black stockings. She clings to his pant leg. Ray pictures Walt dressing her, struggling to brush her hair, hair bands between his teeth, Sophia sitting on his bathroom counter, and smiles widely to himself. He pictures Walt meeting her after the hearing, picking her up and kissing her hello. It was a new hello; hello forever. 

 

The fifth and last one is only one sentence. 

 

_Dear Ray,_

_I miss you, please come home._

 

_Love,_

_Walt Hasser_

 

Ray keeps that one to himself, hidden inside his uniform, safe.

 

Ray was seated on Walt’s couch eating popcorn, watching football, with a lap full of Sophia. It was her first birthday and she was precariously balance between his legs, sucking on a mouthful of cheerios. Walt was in the kitchen, cleaning up the little cake he’d made. He was humming _Mama Tried_ to himself.

The birthday had just been Ray, Walt, and Sophia. They had a little dance party, both men taking turns holding Sophia on his hip and spinning her around the room until she was giggling helplessly. Ray had bought her thick, pink booties and a matching cap to keep her warm in cold months. They’d each had cake, well, Sophia had a few pieces of Walt’s, and now it was almost bedtime. 

Ray stroked a hand through Sophia’s fine hair; he could feel her nodding off. Walt came to sit next to him and let out a sigh.

“You have food on your face,” he said. Ray wiped hard on his mouth with his forearms as Walt took his daughter out of his lap. “I’m gonna put her down.” He said as he stood. 

“Wait, kiss first!” Walt seemed to reluctantly tip his daughter toward him, but smiled as Ray peppered an obnoxious amount of kisses onto Sophia’s cheeks and forehead. 

When he took her down the hall, Ray could hear his singing and decided he felt very warm and comfortable in Walt’s dumb, little couch. And when Walt came back to sit with him, the dazedly happy smile on his face affirmed it.

“Thanks,” Walt said.

“For what?”

“For today.” Walt said, looking away from the TV and directly to Ray, “It means a lot.”

“Secretly, this is all selfish.” Ray said so he didn’t have to look at Walt for too long, “I’m winning over your daughter so she’ll love me more and do whatever I say.”

“Smart. She’s one and years away from being able to do anything of consequence. But, yeah. Smart.”

Ray shoved him with his foot. 

 

The platoon is billeted in this town because it’s in direct danger from Iraqi militants. Their job is to conduct a sort of border control around the city, checking IDs and assessing behavior before anyone is let inside. It’s boring work, but Ray takes the opportunity to make fun of Iraqis in a language they don’t understand. Their shifts are relatively short and Ray eats so many peanut butter MREs he thinks he might die.

They’re only supposed to stay for a week, and absolutely nothing happens for the first four days. On the fifth day, late afternoon, Ray sits in a circle of six guys and trash talks Brad a little bit. He has a warm, red feeling in his chest from Walt’s new letters. Border checks are going on behind him and he’s shoving skittles in his mouth; he’s making the guys in his circle laugh before everything goes to shit. 

First, there’s the sound of aggravated shouting, all in broken not-English. Then, there’s shouting _in_ English, like the Haji’s are gonna understand that better. Ray turns around, and he sees several weapons pointed at two military-aged men. He stands, hand on his sidearm, an instant before fire is exchanged and civilians start screaming. He doesn’t even see who fires; there’s just shots, the two Hajis falling down, and terrible screaming from a civilian woman. 

Ray turns to her and sees. She’s bent over the body of a child and instantly Ray is in Iraq for the first time looking at the shepherds. He didn’t cry then, but Brad did. He thinks, _No way this happened again._

He walks to her, gets to the front of the crowd surrounding the dead child. He knows a dead body when he sees one. When he gets there, and can see past the wailing mother, he realizes it’s a girl. Maybe six years old. Just a little girl. He hadn’t cried when the shepherds were shot, only thought of what a waste it was. Now, something awful and heavy pulls through his chest and all he can hear is the mother’s wailing.  

He doesn’t know he’s crying until someone takes him away by his arm. He looks up to see his lieutenant and for a moment he has to blink away Fick. 

“You alright?” he asks with his hand on Ray’s shoulder. 

Ray doesn’t wipe his eyes but nods, “Yes, Sir.”

He pats his shoulder twice and looks past him to the scene there, “Stay frosty.”

And Ray instantly resents it. Hearing that phrase so far away from Brad feels wrong and Ray couldn’t explain it if he was asked, but in a single moment he has a burning fucking hatred toward that lieutenant and his fucking blaspheming face. This is wrong, this is wrong, this is Iraq without Brad, without Walt, and there’s a dead girl, and Ray’s gonna fucking lose it, he’s gonna fucking lose it. 

He’s on his knees in the dirt, his head in his hands, and he’s fucking sobbing. He can’t remember the last time he felt like this. He can’t remember ever wanting his mother so badly. Maybe he’d be ashamed if he could think past the burning in his gut and his swollen throat. 

Connor kneels next to him and puts an arm around him. Ray doesn’t lean into it, but let’s him stay and lets himself cry. 

 

_Dear Walt,_

_Today I saw a little girl get killed. I saw her and I saw Sophia and it’s like something broke. Something’s wrong with me, I swear something’s wrong with me. I know it’s not weird to freak out when you see a dead kid. But, Walt, they’re all Sophia. Every kid I see here, I think of her and I don’t know what’s fucking wrong with me. I see them and I can’t stand the thought of her being here or losing her or… She’s not my kid. I don’t know what’s going on._

 

He stops short of finishing his thought. He crumples the paper up and shoves it somewhere he can’t see it. 

 

_Dear Ray,_

_It’s a girl. We found out today. I’ve got this weird feeling in my gut, it’s kind of hard to describe. It’s like, the whole thing is somehow more real. I’m excited to meet her, excited and terrified. I’m excited for you to meet her, too._


	5. Chapter 5

The front left tire has been shot and deflated and Darrel is shouting orders at Aaron whose Mark is down as Ray takes the humvee in and out of a ditch. They had actually been ambushed this time, no Iceman to see the Bad Guys coming. The humvee kicks up dirt and the wheel rattles under Ray’s hands; Ray can hear the lieutenant’s rapid fire orders pouring into Darrel’s earpiece. 

That’s always the worst part. There’s always so much noise. 

“Turn here!” Darrel shouts, pointing to a lefthand side road.

“What?”

“Turn!” Darrel screams. So Ray does. At the last second he turns onto the road, a dirt path really, and less than twenty meters down, they’re blocked. Shit, they’re fucking boxed in. Ray doesn’t get nervous or worried, not anymore, but he does get frustrated. And this shit, command fucking things up for him personally, is the fucking worst.

And then he thinks about Aaron, who’s on the top of the humvee, with a faulty weapon, and a half-broken shield on his turret. He thinks about reversing the vehicle, but of course there’s someone there. The lieutenant’s on the comm, so that’s not an option. So he just gets out, runs down the road to tell the driver behind him to turn around. 

Before he gets there, he sees him. He’s hiding in the trees like a pussy, but Ray sees him a moment before he feels his leg get ripped apart and the side of his face hit the dirt.

 

He’s on some kind of cocktail of painkillers when he starts crying. He can hear the blades of the cas-evac chopping into the air and he knows someone’s talking to him but he can’t figure out what he’s saying. The lights he can see fade in and out and Ray’s head is swimming and swarming around a memory. He’s thinking of the letter that said she was too small. 

He was drinking cheap beer he didn’t really like and wasn’t paying attention to an episode of _COPS_ when he read it. 

_The doctor said she’s too small. Kara said she hadn’t been using but fuck it, I know she’s lying. I fucking knew it, too. But I didn’t say anything. Fuck, Ray I don’t know what to do._

Ray cries because Sophia could’ve died before she had the chance to live. Before Walt could hold her and sing her Johnny Cash, before she could learn what hopscotch was, and honeybees and comic books and magic markers, before Ray could take her to Nascar. And then Ray cries because she didn’t. She was born, Walt had said too small and without a peep. 

_I’ve never heard something so fucking beautiful as that screech when the nurse finally got her to breathe._

Ray’s pant leg is ripped open and he screams when someone addresses the hole there. The surgeon must think he’s crying from fear or from the pain, and he is scared and it does hurt, but, goddamn, the only thing he can think of is that letter.

Someone closes his eyes with a latex-covered hand and holds Ray’s limp hand in the other. He feels grateful. 

The first time he wakes up someone tells him that he’s in Germany. He wonders if he can find a way to visit Brad. 

The second time he wakes up someone welcomes him home. The pain in his leg begs to differ.

The third time he wakes up there’s a hand stroking his hair. He turns his head to find his mom smiling at him; she looks the same as the last time he saw her. The day he left she looked sad, too. 

“Hello,” she says. 

Ray groans. His voice is flat and sounds like a whisper when he says, “‘m tired.”

“Me too,” Mom says. 

 

Ray sleeps again for a long time. Short blinks of consciousness spot the time; mostly, his mom is there, sometimes sleeping, sometimes not, but always present. His leg is there, too. It’s this huge weight that doesn’t feel like it belongs to his body. It’s all wrapped up in a clean, white, annoying bandage. Looking at it feels about the same as looking directly into the sun. 

The doctor tells him he was shot. 

“Thanks, but, I kind of put that together for myself.” Ray’s mother smacks his arm.

“You were in surgery for a long time,” the doctor says, “it was touch-and-go for a bit, but the surgery was a success.”

Ray nods. “So, I get to still use this thing?” He can feel his mom clutch his upper arm harder. 

“Yes,” comes the response, “with time and some physical therapy you’ll have full functionality of your left leg.”

“When can he come home?” Ray’s mom asks.

Checking his papers as if the answer lies there, the doctor responds, “We want to keep him here a few days more for observation.” he looks at Ray, “I want to see how you do moving around on it.”

Ray nods, he can tell his mother is disappointed, but he’s getting tired again. His whole body feels heavy. The doctor leaves at some point, Ray’s not sure when or if he said anything else to him. He just falls asleep with the feeling of the oxygen tube under his nose to soothe him. 

He wakes to the pain of his leg, but he doesn’t feel groggy anymore. No, the pain comes in full and clear and awful. He learns he can adjust his pain killer as he likes and that’s a beautiful thing. Later that same day he gets a phone call. Ray almost forgot there were other people in the world. 

He answers it, “Hello?”

“What kind of screwby gets _out of his vehicle_ in the middle of a firefight?”

“Bradley!”

“Hi, Ray.”

 

Once he’s allowed to get up and hobble around, Ray spends most of his time figuring out how to crutch down the hallway as fast as he can. There’s another patient with crutches on his hallway, a fifteen-year-old kid, and they decide to race wheelchairs. The kid beats Ray most times, but he blames it on the fact the kid has had more practice. Between race heats they play the suffering olympics. 

“I was _shot_ serving the country.”

“I’m _dying_.” the kid says.

“Yeah, but we’re all doing that.”

The kid laughs. 

At dinner, Ray sees the kid sitting with his family: mother, father, little brother. Next to his family, it’s obvious how gray and thin he is. Guilt fills his stomach but when the kid sees him, he waves happily to him and Ray waves back. The kid’s mother eyes Ray and speaks to her son in Spanish, probably asking who the stranger is. 

The next time he talks with him, Ray learns his name. 

“I’m Chris.”

“Ray.”

They shake hands. 

 

Ray’s mom visits him everyday, even though Ray tells her not to. 

“I’m going home with you on Sunday.” He tells her.

“And I haven’t seen you in months, so you can shut it.”

Chris overhears and laughs at him. 

 

Two days before he leaves, Ray meets Chris’s father and mother. He’s introduced to them as Ricardo and Soledad. Ray leans on one of his crutches to shake their hands and calls  them “Sir” and “Ma’am” because they clearly outrank him here. 

The day he leaves, the doctor warns him of his symptoms. “You’ll have minor pain, it’s to be expected after any surgery. There will also be a numbness on the top of your thigh, where the incision is. It will diminish over time but there will likely always be some lack of feeling.”

On his way out, he stops by Chris’s room. He gives him a piece of paper on which he’s written his name, number, and address. “Before you die, you call me. Anytime, no matter where you are, I’ll come over and we’ll have a drink together, okay?”

“Okay,” Chris says and looks at him with some mixture of awe and laughter. Ray strokes a hand over his head.

Chris says, “Goodbye, Ray.” and hugs him.

Ray hugs back, “See you later, Chris.”

 

Ray’s childhood home is a split level and his bedroom is downstairs, but it’s six stairs to go down and only three to go up, and his mother insists he sleeps upstairs. The bed is uncomfortable in the way all beds are uncomfortable after a deployment. He’d consider sleeping on the floor if he thought his leg could handle it. His mom does everything she can for him, and Ray appreciates it, but he’s trying not to pull out his own hair. 

He lasts two weeks. Two weeks of mom doting and caring and his own immobility and he’s had enough. He tells his mom he’s going to his apartment and that’s that. There’s nothing she can do to stop him. 

Living at home alone isn’t bad. Ray has mastered the crutches and he drives with his right foot anyway. Mostly he eats pizza and orders movies. He ignores his phone unless his mother calls and he basks in privacy for the first time in months. 

His phone rings in the middle of the day and he doesn’t move from the couch to get it. The answering machine goes through it’s schpiel, beeps, and he hears, “Hey, Ray. It’s Walt,” and Ray is up in an instant, tumbling over furniture and trying not to fuck up his leg, “I heard you were back in the states, and I–” 

Ray picks up the receiver and nearly collides his leg with the counter, “Walt!”

“Oh, Ray?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here.”

“How–how are you? You doing okay?”

Ray leans both elbows on the counter top so he can balance on one foot, “I’m good, I mean,” he shrugs, “as good as a guy who got shot can be.”

Walt laughs a little, under his breath, and Ray’s face lights up like a christmas tree. “Do you–are you up for visitors?”

Ray pretends to consider, “What do you have in mind?”

“A certain Tulip misses you,” Walt says, “I haven’t told her that you’re back, yet. But once I do she’s not gonna shut up until she sees you.”

“You wanna come over?”

“Do you want us to?”

Ray scoffs, “No, I’m not interested in seeing you at all.”

“Asshole.”

“Careful with talk like that. Little ears are listening.”

 

There’s a knock on the door and Ray has to yell for them to come in because he can’t get onto his crutches fast enough. He hears the door click open and then little, padding footsteps. Then, he’s got a little Tulip toddling into him. 

She stands as close as she possibly can and looks straight up at him with a huge toothy grin. “Hi, Unca Rway!” she says and raises her arms for ‘up.’ Ray’s chest feels like it might burst. 

Before Ray can manage his crutches and pick Sophia up, an arm swoops down and scoops her up. Walt pulls her to his chest and she squeals as she tries to evade her father’s kisses. And suddenly the weight of what he felt in the desert falls on his shoulders and he has the undeniable urge to touch them, to feel that they’re real and safe and breathing. 

Only a moment has passed and Walt gives Sophia to Ray. He collapses a little bit, like he’s released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He strokes her hair and rubs at her back and kisses her head because he can’t help it. He feels her little arms squeeze him back and he kisses her again. 

When he looks up Walt is eying him with an odd sort of weight. 

“What?” Ray asks.

“Nothing,” Walt gestures to Sophia as he brings in the rest of his bags, “She missed you.”

Ray leans back so he can see her eyes, “Did you?” he asks her excitedly. Sophia nods and throws herself at him again. 

With one arm on a crutch and the other full of Tulip, Ray walks to the couch and sits himself down. Walt follows and Ray’s glad he doesn’t have to invite him.

 

The second time Walt comes over, he’s alone, save for the Chinese take-out he brings. Announcing himself, he comes in, “Person, I brought food!”

“Bring it in here!” Ray calls from his bed. He’s watching COPS again. Hasser comes in, t-shirt, jeans, no shoes or socks, the way Ray always pictures him, and sits himself down in the corner and starts dishing out cartons of steaming food. 

Oddly, he stays at the foot, eating his fried rice from the corner, legs crossed Indian style. He’s not directly facing Ray or the TV but every so often he turns and watches some drunk chick get pulled over or an old man get tackled for possession of meth. Ray makes a small protestation, a little hum because his mouth is full of sesame chicken. 

Walt looks up, and he looks nervous, “What’s wrong?”

Ray swallows his mouthful, “Why are you all the way over there?”

“Oh,” Walt mumbles and he takes his spot by Ray’s side. 

The meal goes on and Ray can feel that Walt is tense but he doesn’t ask why. They watch COPS and giggle at the idiots getting arrested, Ray feels happy and warm.

“How’s the leg?” asks Walt during a commercial break. 

“Eh,” Ray digs in his carton for more rice, “It’s okay. I crutch-walked down to the store today, you know, to exercise it, but I think that’s about as much as I can handle right now.”

Walt nods and says around a mouthful, “The therapy helping?”

“Yeah, but it hurts like a bitch. And I still got some-odd weeks left.”

Walt nods again and doesn’t say anything. 

When the show ends Walt tenses again. Ray puts his food down, slides it away from himself, and looks at Walt, who’s staring forward. Something’s wrong. Ray pulls Walt’s food away from him and puts a hand on his arm. Walt looks at it, smiles softly, and looks at Ray with a strange, determined expression. 

“Look, Ray,” he has the same face he wears when he’s behind the Mark, “you were gone for a long time.”

“Uh, yeah,” Ray says, “buddy, I remember.” He laughs, “I was–”

“No, would you shut up for a minute?” Walt snaps, “I’m trying to tell you something.”

Ray’s mouth shuts and he puts his hands in his lap, sort of like a scolded child, and waits for Walt to continue.

Walt starts over, “You were gone for a really long time. I guess, it’s one of those things where you don’t notice something until it’s missing.” He’s staring at his lap with his eyebrows drawn together, “I didn’t realize how much you were a part of my life, how much you were a part of Soph’s…”

He stops talking, but he looks like he’s trying to think, so Ray says nothing.

“She asked about you nearly everyday for the first few weeks. It sucked having to tell her that you weren’t coming back for a while.” He looks up, but not at Ray, “I realized, after a long time, that Sophia loves you. And then I realized that I–” his voice stutters and it comes in one hurried breath, “love you.”

Ray doesn’t say anything, because he can’t fucking breathe. 

“And I think you love me, too.” After a silence, Walt adds, “You love my daughter.” as if that contributes to his point.

_Yeah_ , Ray thinks. She’s half of Ray’s heart. He looks at Walt and thinks of all those fucking letters.

“Fucking say something.”

In a startled way, Ray answers, “I thought about Sophia everyday that I was away. Those letters you sent, I read them over and over; I kept the pictures inside my flak vest.”

Walt smiles a little and it spurs Ray on. “Every little girl there was Sophia, every father and daughter… I saw marines kill a little girl and I cried because all I could think of was–” 

Walt cuts him off with a hug. A real hug, with his arms thrown around him and side of his face pressed into Ray’s. And it’s the first time Ray has held him, the first time he’s touched him since Iraq. Something changes. Walt’s breathing, his heart’s beating, and he’s so very _real_.

Then Walt pulls away and before Ray can grab him back, Walt kisses him. So soft and gentle and absolutely not enough. Ray is a man who could’ve died; Ray kisses like one. He pulls at Walt’s clothes in dumb fists and touches his face and hair with clumsy fingers. 

They take a breath and Ray says, “Shit, Walt I love you. I’m in love like you wouldn’t believe. I–”

Walt kisses him hard and presses him back into the blankets of the bed. “Shut up.”

So, Ray does.

 

Ray comes to Walt’s place with a suitcase of his favorite t-shirts and socks and is greeted with a messy-haired Tulip and his best friend. He drops his bag to hold them. Finally, he can hold them. Walt’s arms around Sophia and Ray’s arms around them both. Walt smiles like a dope and it makes Ray giggle. Ray kisses Sophia over and over, until she squirms away and runs down the hall. Walt holds him then. And he kisses him. Ray thinks he feels like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm probably gonna write a sequel to this at some point. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! I love you more than air!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!  
> Kudos and comments are adored!  
> find me @ackackh.tumblr.com, I'd love to be friends!


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